


Inspiration

by steelballrun



Series: Love Imitates Art [1]
Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: M/M, No Spoilers, Painting, except for maybe the 3rd palace, ryuji is dumb dumbo dumb boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-18 12:58:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13100631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steelballrun/pseuds/steelballrun
Summary: Ryuji needs help, with an art project at school. Also, kind of in the general sense too.Ryuji just needs some effin' help, okay?!





	1. Ryuji Is a Dumbass

**Author's Note:**

> Yusuke is always asking other people to model for him, so the tables have FUCKING turned this time asshole. You can skip to the first "~" if you'd like.

Ryuji's thumb hovers over the crack in his phone screen that replaces the SEND button.  
No way is he actually doing this. Seriously, no way. No, actually! For real. He's not kidding. No way is he asking Mr. Pretty-Boy-Obsessed-With-Naked-Ann for help.  
But then again, how else is he supposed to do better than a sixty percent in history? Akira wouldn't help him. Ann… doesn't know a thing about art, despite being a model. Makoto would straight-up _murder_ him if she found out what his grade is like.  
[Sorry,] that bastard Akira had texted back when Ryuji asked. [I'm busy all week. Try asking Yusuke.]  
Nah, he can't call his best buddy a bastard, especially when he'd actually texted back this time. Usually, just getting communication with him outside of the group chat is like pulling teeth.  
So he's stuck with the damned weirdo who can hardly hold a conversation. He's more of an airhead than Ann, and for fuck's sake, how is that even _possible?! ___  
Ryuji slams his own air-filled head against the wall, before remembering that he lives in an apartment. He grabs at the sheets on his bed with his bare toes, he slams his forehead against his knee. Anything that's not pressing SEND.  
“Dammit,” he mutters to himself as pain shoots through his bum leg. Note to Ryuji: _Don't _slam your head against that knee.__  
Cradling his knee in the crook of his elbow, Ryuji wonders what the hell kind of history assignment “recreate a period-appropriate art style” is, anyway. He'd been assigned to ukiyo-e. _Yusuke_ , if Ryuji thinks about it really hard, _is kind of the perfect person to do it_. He remembers the time that the artist bought Ann a box of Japanese sweets as a gift for letting him stay at her house (though he hadn't asked permission, or even actually stayed in the end). How strangely comfortable (and, as an aside, _handsome_ ) he looked in that yukata. Then his painting skill, and profound knowledge of the art world.  
If Ryuji’s honest with himself, which he almost always is, he's hesitating mostly because the other boy's skill and reputation go with him wherever he goes. Ryuji’s follows him too, just… for opposite reasons. Why in his right mind would he help _Ryuji _of all people? Maybe Ryuji’s getting ahead of himself thinking that just because they're teammates--__  
_Oh, that's right._ They're teammates. So what if Yusuke’s basically a famous painter who definitely has better things to do than bring up Ryuji’s crappy grades? So what if Ryuji’s an athlete with a dead career and a bum leg?  
_Yeah_ , he tells himself indignantly, _so what?!_  
By now, his phone has fallen asleep from the time spent overthinking. He unlocks it and presses SEND in a rush of boldness.  
“Ha!” he says aloud, to nobody. Then he feels mildly ridiculous for spending, like, for-effing- _ever_ thinking about whether to send a single text.  
His phone screen blinks up at him. An empty conversation, with Ryuji’s lone [hey, dude] at the top. Wait, was that too casual? Should he follow it up with something more--  
_Ah. He texted back._  
[Ryuji? Hello. Is something the matter?]  
Ryuji’s brain shuts down. He types out, [nvm], sends it, and then tosses his phone to the bed. What an idiot, thinking he should ask Yusuke.  
His phone buzzes a few seconds later. [Alright.]  
_Seriously?! ___  
Angrily Ryuji picks his phone back up. [dude what the hell?! ur not even gonna ask???]  
[I apologize. I assumed you no longer wished to communicate.]  
_What a dense bastard _. Ryuji feels a little bad.__  
[nah, man. its my bad. listen, i need your help with an art thing.]  
[Art? I would be glad to help. Please meet me at my dorm in one hour. I will send you the address.]  
_Huh? It was that easy? _  
Ryuji feels like an idiot.__

_____ _

____

~

“Allow me to clarify, for the sake of my own understanding, what you are asking.” Yusuke pauses a moment, adding dramatic effect. “You have been assigned the task of creating an ukiyo-e artwork for history class.”  
“Yup.”  
“Because of my proficiency in the arts and the world of Japanese culture, you have enlisted my help.”  
“Two for two, dude.”  
“Furthermore, you need at least an eighty percent on this assignment in order to keep your grade above failing.”  
“I don't wanna worry my ma.”  
Yusuke pauses again, and then sighs. “Very well. What is your concept for this piece?”  
“My who now?”  
Ryuji feels incredibly self-conscious, sitting on Yusuke’s Western-style dorm bed, as the latter pulls out his phone, presumably to show him something. “Your base idea,” he continues even as he scrolls, looking for something, “the message you wish to convey through your art.”  
“Aw, I was just thinkin’ it needed to have the right kinda atmosphere, like those woodblock prints with only a couple colors--”  
He's cut off by a screen in his face, and not the cracked one that belongs to him. What Yusuke was searching for turns out to be a gallery of ukiyo-e prints, all of varying subjects. Ryuji, truthfully, doesn't recognize any except the one of the big wave.  
“If you begin to work without first conceptualizing the subject you wish to portray, your work will suffer devastatingly for it.” He looks and sounds like someone who's learned from experience, so Ryuji just decides to listen. It makes sense, anyway.  
“The most important thing is vision! Any artist knows that the…”  
And Yusuke begins to lecture at length. Ryuji listens, hardly understanding a word, but finding it kind of interesting anyway.  
_This ain't like when Kawakami goes on forever about whatever the hell _, he realizes. It's so incredibly different from being in school, actually, listening to Yusuke ramble passionately and watching the sun strike his silhouette through the dorm window.__  
_Damn, he really cares about this art shit _. Ryuji becomes suddenly very, very glad that Madarame didn't ruin this part of Yusuke.__  
“Hey,” he finds himself saying, without thinking as usual and interrupting Yusuke rather rudely. “Model for me?”  
The room goes silent. Even the dust seems to stop settling, and the scene in front of Ryuji’s eyes freezes into a still life of Yusuke’s surprise.  
Ryuji could swear, on his ma’s honor, that the faintest of blushes crosses Yusuke’s face.  
“W-- wait, I didn't-- shit, I'm sorry!” He wishes that he could just text Yusuke “nvm” again and then disappear from existence permanently. “I didn't mean-- it just came out and--”  
“Very well.”  
_Wait, what? Huh? Did he just say-- ___  
Seeing the befuddled look on his teammate's face, Yusuke only says, “I would be a great hypocrite if I wished Ann to model for me as a complete stranger, but were not willing to do so myself for a fellow Thief. Besides, I understand all too well the fleeting, yet striking nature of inspiration.”  
_Oh. I guess that's true. _Damn, it was that easy?__  
Ryuji feels like an idiot again.  
“Seeing as this is a period art piece, shall I don a yukata?”  
“Uh, um…” Ryuji remembers what happened the last time he saw Yusuke in a yukata. His brain shuts down. “Y-- yeah. Thanks, man.”  
“I will be a few minutes. Please excuse me, Sakamoto-san.”  
The blond, previously slack-jawed, now frowns. “Hey, none of that formal shit, man. Call me Ryuji. I'm gonna call you just Yusuke whether you like it or not.”  
Another frozen moment passes, like Yusuke has called his Persona while Ryuji wasn't looking. The black-haired boy seems to contemplate on the other’s forwardness for a few moments, that tiny blush-- the crack in his composure-- returns for a split second.  
Just as Ryuji starts to wonder if he's made a mistake in saying what he did, the least expected (and, if he's being honest, the best) outcome occurs. Yusuke smiles.  
“Alright then, Ryuji-kun,” he replies with a smile that, even on the brightest day of the year, beats the sunlight streaming in through the window hands down. “I suggest you prepare your materials.”  
…  
…  
..!  
!!!  
_What the hell was that?! ___  
Ryuji barely stops himself from clutching at his own chest. Like hell some dude's smile can make him suddenly sweat and be very, very aware of his own aliveness. That's… it's… it's so impossible that he can't even think of a word for it. Nobody should have that kind of power! And all because he gave a real smile instead of the polite ones he usually shows. Un-effing-fair.  
Just to distract himself from the impossibility of it all, Ryuji actually gets ready, sitting cross-legged on the bed with the blank paper and pencil he'd brought with him. Great.  
Wait, no, not the bed. That'd be weird. He moves to sit on the chair. Better.  
Wait, no. What if Yusuke wants to sit on the chair?  
He can just sit on the bed, Ryuji assures himself with a firm nod.  
Wait, no! Not the bed. That's even weirder!  
Ryuji moves from the chair to the floor. That way Yusuke can decide where he wants to sit. Perfect.  
Hold on, wait, if he sits on the floor, that's no good. It'll look like he's trying to get a peek upwards. Besides, who draws anyone from that angle, anyway?  
Whirling thoughts running wild underneath his blond curls, Ryuji ends up just standing and pacing the room.  
“Are you alright, Ryuji?”  
_Dammit, how does he make my own name sound so… dammit!_  
“I'm fine,” replies the shorter boy with a sheepish laugh. “I guess just sit… wherever, I guess? Wherever you're comfy’s fine.”  
“Nonsense! You're the artist; you must position me as you see fit.”  
_Geez, stop making everything sound so wrong._  
“Oh, uh…” Ryuji scratches his head. _Always be honest, Ryuji,_ his ma told him when he was, like, seven. Why it's resurfacing now is a mystery to him. Still, she was right. Getting tongue-tied and not using his words is how he ended up with a failed career and a bum leg. “Uh, to be honest, man, I'm not the best artist. I don't want you gettin’ sore if I take too long.  
“Plus, like… what'd you say again? The feelin’ I wanna convey? I just feel like it won't come through if I set you up like some kinda mannequin. I wanna keep stuff chill, relaxed. Keep talkin’ while we're here, anyway, since we never really talk outside the hideout.”  
Yusuke nods thoughtfully, eyes closed and meditating on the blond boy's words. “Why… that is an incredibly insightful point of view. I feel as if I have learned something new today.”  
He ends up on the bed, sitting on a pillow and leaning against the headboard, while Ryuji draws him-- or tries to-- from the chair. Actually, it isn't that bad, or at least so Ryuji thinks. The proportions are alright. Ish.  
“So, dude,” says the blond, “tell me somethin’ I didn't know aboutcha.”  
Another silence. Aside from plain old curiosity about the enigmatic artist, Ryuji feels a lot like he'd just get sucked into staring at him unless they keep up a conversation.  
“I’m unsure of what the Phantom Thieves don't already know about me,” murmurs Yusuke uncertainly. His hands, clasped in his lap, fiddle with the hem of his yukata. It's a different one than he wore at the festival, a subtle purple-and-blue that makes his eyes look like liquid silver. Ryuji has never seen him fiddle with anything before. “I suppose, in hindsight, I didn't have much of a life outside Madarame.”  
“I'm sorry to hear that, man.”  
“I don't require pity.” The change in tone is so abrupt that Ryuji snaps the lead of his mechanical pencil.  
“It's not pity,” he replies. Quietly, he clicks the top of his pencil. “If it, uh… puts us on more even ground, my dad was a total bastard too.”  
Silence. Yusuke lets the words sound themselves out in the dusty room, now feeling much larger.  
“He… fuck, sorry, man-- it's hard to think about.” Ryuji isn't drawing anymore. “He drank a lot, drugs, smacked my ma and me around all the time--”  
“You don't have to--”  
“Nah, Yusuke, listen. Akira knows. Ann knows. You deserve to know too, since we're on the same team and we know about Madarame and all. I just, uh…” He sighs, fist clenched around his unfortunate, ready-to-snap pencil. “I mean, I get the impression I give. I talk loud, actin’ all tough an’ all that-- even the dyed hair. But I hate when people think I'm some ass who doesn't give a shit about his friends and family and I'm just some delinquent who skips class to smoke. Y’know what I mean?”  
“I believe I just might. If I may intrude, Ryuji, you don't drink alcohol or do drugs for that reason, isn't that the case?”  
The delinquent-not-delinquent furrows his brows. “How'd you know?”  
Yusuke smiles again as he admits that he guessed. “Your dislike of bitter things, for one, and the commonality of such behaviors among children with similar fathers.”  
_Damn. Guess I'm easy to read. _Ryuji leans an elbow on his good leg. “Whatever, man! Quit readin’ my mind! Enough with the heavy topics, too!”__  
With a blush, Ryuji turns back to his drawing. Maybe Yusuke isn't quite as idiotic as he'd originally thought.  
“Light topics, then? Hmm, I'm rather inexperienced with small talk…”  
“Ain't gotta be small talk, dude. Anything. Guy talk.”  
“Oh, is that so? I wasn't aware you also preferred the company of men.”  
Ryuji almost chokes on air. “ _Huh?! _”__  
“I was unaware that--”  
“Dude, I _heard _you!”__  
_Why am I acting like this? I didn't even care when Ann told me about her and Shiho... ___  
“Is something the matter? I mean, I did have my suspicions about you and Kurusu-kun.”  
Yet again, “ _Huh?! _”__  
“Are you two not together?”  
“Like hell we are! Akira’s my best friend!” Ryuji almost stabs himself in the knee with his pencil, which is now somewhat cracked. “I don't like him like that.”  
Something about Yusuke’s voice seems… almost relieved? He rests his chin on his palm, far too composed for Ryuji’s liking. “I see.”  
“Why? You got a thing for Akira? I'll set you up.”  
“I assure you, I do not,” smirks Yusuke. Just why the hell he's so smug is beyond Ryuji, though. 

_____ _

~

“Are you quite sure this is alright, Sa-- Ryuji?”  
Yusuke stares down at his bowl of ramen, looking somehow intimidated by its volume.  
“Don’t worry about it, man!” insists the other boy. “This’s my thanks for your help on my project. Dig in already!’’  
Without another word, Ryuji starts on his pork-and-egg ramen. It's as good as ever-- and for some reason, he's much more at ease with Yusuke around than before. Maybe it's because he's out of that damn yukata, thank god.  
“I see,” mutters Yusuke after his first bite. “This is quite good! The flavor… such depth to this saltiness!”  
_At least he's enjoying it, I guess? _All Ryuji can do is grin at the boy and continue eating.__

____

~

“Damn, that was good,” says Ryuji. “Let's walk this off.”  
As he receives change for his 2000-yen bill, he's out of the chair and waiting for Yusuke. “Well? Awesome, right?”  
“Indeed,” replies the brunet. He looks comically opposite to the slouching, bow-legged boy beside him, as they walk the streets of Ogikubo.  
A companionable few minutes pass by. Though the silence has never been Ryuji’s favorite, he doesn't mind being around Yusuke, wordless until something needs to be said.  
It's hot out. Or maybe being around Yusuke gives him that feeling, who the hell knows anymore? What few clouds drift across the sky are the same color as the flecks in Yusuke’s eyes that Ryuji first noticed this afternoon.  
“Ryuji,” says the artist quite suddenly. “You do not feel… ill at ease in any way around me?”  
_Where the hell did that come from? ___  
“You mean, like, nervous and shit?” Ryuji scratches his head for a few seconds to think of a response. “Nah, man. You're pretty easygoing. I mean, at first, you were kind of a dick to Ann, but if she’s cool, so am I. Why d’you ask?”  
“I simply… it is something I am told quite often. It may be best not to dwell on it.”  
“If you say so, dude. I won't force it. But it ain't so bad around you. You ask me, I'm more like _chill _at ease with you.”__  
He laughs at his own joke. Yusuke smirks a little before changing the topic. “What say you, Ryuji, that we stop by a nearby park? If you are to perfect that drawing, I suggest we work on technique.”  
“Uh…” Ryuji stops to think for a few seconds. “Inokashira is the closest big one. How's that sound?”  
Yusuke smiles again and butterflies begin to fly in places they have no business being. Ryuji punches himself in the stomach.  
“Are you alright?” the artist asks, looking concerned.  
“...Indigestion.” Now he's gone and made the smile disappear, for which he feels like punching himself again.  
“Oh, I see. Do you need to go home?”  
For some reason, Yusuke almost looks… disappointed? Though he hides it quite well. Ryuji feels like he kicked a puppy.  
“N-- nah, man! I'm good!” He reaches out to hug the disappointment out of the other boy, but catches himself and only claps Yusuke on the shoulder. “Let's head out, man! Inokashira. Look, there's the station!”

_____ _

~

“Dude, just because this park has a pond doesn't mean we need to get a swan boat.”  
“Nonsense!” insists Yusuke for the second time today. “How else would you capture the scenery at its greatest? Its richest beauty?! Its--”  
“Listen, man, I ain't good enough to get its greatest.” Ryuji doesn't mention that the swan boat is a _couples’ _thing. “I'm lookin’ to get a still life of a tree or somethin’.”__  
Reluctantly, Yusuke turns away from the boat rental booth. Ryuji can feel his wallet thanking him. “Ah… I see. I suppose I should have known. To the forest, then.”  
The little wood in Inokashira Park is almost empty, the light of almost-evening slanting through the trees. Ryuji wonders if he'll be able to capture just how pretty it is. “How ‘bout right here?”  
“Ah, I suppose that should work. I do have some colored pencils on me, so feel free to use them.”  
He looks at the artist, opens his mouth to question, but only closes it again in a wise decision not to. Ryuji takes the fancy-looking pencil crayons from his friend.  
“Thanks, man.”  
No response. Silence seems to be a constant presence around Yusuke, not that Ryuji minds. He's loud enough for them both.  
It must be said, at this point, that Ryuji actually isn't that terrible of an artist. He focuses incredibly hard on his task, attempting to accurately show the form of the tree before him, grunting once in a while or sighing. It's not half bad.  
“Hey, dude, how's it lookin’?” He turns to Yusuke, who's deep in thought. No response.  
“Hey,” Ryuji repeats. “Yusuke.”  
Silence.  
“Earth to Yusuke?” He waves a hand in front of the other boy's eyes.  
The artist starts, seeming to awaken from a stupor. “Hm? Oh, Sakamoto-kun. Yes, what is it?”  
“Don't _what is it _me! What's up with you, dude?” Ryuji claps a hand onto the other boy’s shoulder, but he… flinches away? Huh?__  
“What’s the deal, man?” he asks gently. “I didn't mean to scare ya--”  
The look in Yusuke’s eyes could petrify… oh, hell, Ryuji’s got no idea. Something that's really hard to petrify. That's not the point right now; what matters is why in the hell he's aiming such a vicious glare at Ryuji. Come to think of it, why is he doing that?  
“Y-- Yusuke?” he tries, quietly.  
Silence. A frozen moment that seems to last hours.  
“If you must send signals towards me,” the slender boy says coldly, “do try to ensure they are not entirely mixed. I suggest you consider how your actions affect other people.”  
And he's gone.  
Ryuji feels like an idiot.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> he try

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On my honor as a man I swear I will write something for Ann/Shiho. Not gonna be another back-burner femslash ship. Plus the tag is so empty of fics centering on them.

_87 _, reads the red pen on the paper stapled to his assignment.__  
Though he should be happy-- overjoyed, even, at the assignment (worth a good chunk of his grade) being so above average, Ryuji is unmoved by the sight. Hell, the damned thing isn't even worth the turmoil of the day he spent with Yusuke.  
_Thud _comes the sound of his head on the table of the diner. He groans.__  
“Ryuji, stop it,” Ann chides him through a mouthful of ice cream. “You can still fix this, you know. Just cause you mixed up all your flirting doesn’t mean you can’t clear the air.”  
“How the hell would I fix this, man? Don't be dumb. It's over, it's totally done. I'm quitting the Pha-- _ow! _”__  
Ann has good aim with that spoon. “Don't say that so loud here,” she hisses. “Do you have any idea where you are, like, ever?”  
_Damn, she's right, _Ryuji thinks grudgingly as he rubs his right eye. “Fine. Still, if you know so much, how am I supposed to fix this? I'm pretty sure I fucked this up forever.”__  
“You're being dramatic.” She takes another huge spoonful of ice cream. “You know, you really are terrible with your feelings.”  
“What?! Me?”  
“Tell me how you feel about me. Pretend I'm Yusuke.”  
“ _Huh?! _”__  
“Just do it!”  
Though his hesitation is nearly debilitating and he has his doubts about the effectiveness of Ann's idea, Ryuji sighs in resignation. “Hey, uh, Yusuke.” He has some trouble imagining the short, bubbly blonde as the tall, stoic brunet. “So, dude, uh, you're a real bro. And you looked pretty rockin’ in that yukata.”  
A blank blue stare.  
“That wasn't any good?”  
Ann’s mouth is a straight, sympathetic line. “I understand Yusuke’s point of view a little better now.”  
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?!”  
“It means you suck! Put your heart and soul into it, Ryuji! If you're not even going to take this seriously, what did you call me here for? Why are you buying me ice cream?”  
“Dude, I'm not buying your--”  
Ryuji cuts himself off. Another sigh.  
“Nah,” he mutters, “you're right. I just… I've never… _ugh _.”__  
“Just try again,” Ann suggests more gently.  
Face red, Ryuji mumbles something under his breath. “...felt… -iho… girls...”  
“Speak up, Sakamoto.” _Damn, she never calls me that unless I'm in deep shit _. Even without the warning, Ryuji knows he's being ridiculous, calling Ann here to ask for advice and then getting all embarrassed.__  
“I said,” he pauses for a second, “how'd you know… you felt that way for Shiho? Even though you're both girls.”  
She sighs heavily at the boy's cluelessness. “Ryuji, I've _only _ever liked girls. Why ask me? Your thing's clearly different.”__  
Ryuji sighs too. The other patrons are probably wondering if there's a draft in the diner.  
“I just dunno what to do, is all. I don't even know how… if I like him like that.”  
“I think we can assume you both like each other and just move on already. How are you going to tell him?”  
“Wh--” Ryuji almost hits his head on the back of the booth with how dramatic he's being. “Don't just go assumin' shit! I ain't figured that out yet.”  
“Ryuji, don't be dumb. I don't think you'd shell out the money for ice cream if this wasn't about you liking him. Besides, if it was about a fight between friends, why come to me? Why ask what it's like dating someone of the same gender? Huh?”  
“Personal space,” Ryuji mutters, keeping Ann at bay with a hand on her forehead. But she's right, anyway, no matter if she's ten centimeters away from his face.  
Ann retreats. Ryuji can't believe he just got chewed out, rightfully, by someone who's staring through misty, regretful eyes at her empty bowl of ice cream.  
“Damn, you're probably right. How am I gonna tell him? What if he says no?”  
“I'm pretty sure you can count on him sayi--”  
The dramatic gasp that she lets out, in place of the rest of her sentence, is so enthusiastic that Ryuji knows he's in for something terrible.  
“I just had the _best _idea. Come on, hurry up and pay! Let's go, let's go!”  
Ryuji groans. __

__

__

__

__

_____ _

~

“I am _not _doing this,” Ryuji says as soon as he realizes where Ann has dragged him to.__  
“Welcome,” greets a familiar voice.  
_Oh, hell. ___  
Messy black hair and glasses half-conceal a mischievous smile. Actually, no, it's more of a smug smirk, and Ryuji is not happy to see it.  
“You planned this,” the blond realizes. Bastards.  
“I'm sorry, sir,” replies Akira innocuously, looking way too comfortable in that damned Rafflesia apron, “I'm afraid I don't have a clue what you're talking about.”  
“Dude, you two are assholes.”  
“I do believe I have a book that might help you with choosing a bouquet, sir.”  
It pains Ryuji to think that his friends might actually have the right idea. Loudly, he groans. 

_____ _

~

“Are you sure about this?” asks Ryuji doubtfully, 60 minutes and 1500 yen later. He holds a bouquet of Rainbow Sage, Adoration Orchids, and something called The Sweetest of Peas. It doesn't look that bad, so hopefully Yusuke won't turn him away at the door. That hour reading the Flowerpedia better not have been wasted.  
Akira and Ann nod enthusiastically, reinforcing Ryuji’s immediate instinct that this is a bad idea.  
“It can't get any worse,” comments the black-haired boy. He does have a point.  
“Go kiss him!” Ann cheers.  
“Break a lip,” adds Akira.  
“Tell him you love him!”  
“Make sure you **[expletive omitted in accordance with censorship laws **]”  
** ** Ryuji splutters, “K-- Kurusu, you _dick! _”  
Ann only laughs. Ryuji, predictably, groans. __

******** ____

~

[hey dude, you mind if i stop by in a few?]  
Two minutes go by. Five minutes. Ryuji gets off at the subway stop by Kosei High. Ten minutes. Ryuji taps his foot endlessly while waiting on a station bench.  
Fifteen minutes. Ryuji plays a game on his phone.  
Twenty minutes. Ryuji keeps losing because he exits the game every thirty seconds to refresh his IMs.  
Twenty-two minutes. Just as Ryuji is starting to wonder whether he's fucked up permanently, and why he ever tried lying to himself about not having feelings for Yusuke-- his phone buzzes.  
His own fingers, and the near-instant loading time for his messages both seem to take for-effing- _ever _as he waits to see the artist's text.__  
[Do as you please, Sakamoto.]  
_Yowch. _  
Ryuji slams his head back against the back of the bench and gets up to start his walk. His bad knee, in pain from all the impatient leg-shaking and the standing in Rafflesia for an hour, reading the Flowerpedia, protests. Ryuji groans at the ache, but walks on.__

_____ _

~

“Sakamoto,” greets Yusuke coldly. His grey eyes are clear and stony.  
Ryuji, with his hands hidden behind his back, opens his mouth to say, “Never mind,” but inevitably closes it in silence.  
He tries again, thankfully managing to say words this time. “Uh, sorry, man.”  
Yusuke’s thin brows furrow into squiggly little pencil lines. _Damn, that’s kinda cute. _“I… pardon?”__  
“I said, uh… sorry, dude.” Ryuji scratches his head sheepishly, and Yusuke’s furrowed brows raise in surprise, following his raised arm. “For, uh… last time. Mixin’ you up and all that. It was a real dick move, y’know?”  
_What the hell is he looking at? _Ryuji cocks his head in confusion. “Yusuke?”__  
“Are those… for me?” the artist asks, pointing somewhere above Ryuji’s head.  
“Are wh-- _oh! _” He almost smacks himself for forgetting about the flowers in his hand. The thought was lost somewhere among the contours of Yusuke’s face, or perhaps the wrinkles in his eyebrows. “Y- yeah, man. I thought, uh, you’d like ‘em. I dunno, if you know anythin’ about flowers, though…”__  
Immediately, Yusuke picks up where Ryuji lets his sentence trail off. “These are orchids, correct, for love? And sage and sweetpea for gratitude. I studied much about flowers during my time under Madarame, as painting still lifes was a common and useful practice for honing brushstroke technique. Indeed, the bouquet’s arrangement is not aesthetically displeasing, but…”  
And, he’s off on a tangent again. _At least he doesn’t seem too mad? _wonders Ryuji. It’s hard to tell with Yusuke.__  
For a solid sixty seconds, Yusuke comments insightfully on the arrangement and color complement of the three chosen blossoms. Ryuji listens, enraptured by the enthusiasm in Yusuke’s voice but scarcely absorbing a single word.  
Five seconds of silence.  
Yusuke looks expectantly at the athlete-- Ryuji realizes he’s been asked a question.  
“Huh? Oh, uh… sorry dude, could you repeat that last part?”  
“I asked if you would mind me re-arranging the bouquet so as to maximize its aesthetic appeal.”  
“Uh, well…” _Who the hell asks something like that? _“I mean, it _is _yours, y’know. Just toss it in water, and make it as pretty as you want, I guess.”____  
“Ah, my thanks.” Slender fingers pluck the flowers from Ryuji’s hand and recede further into the dorm. Yusuke leaves the door open.  
“Hey, man, did you mean to…” Ryuji trails off again and sighs. Yusuke, sitting in a chair in front of his desk, is unresponsive as he arranges the flowers.  
_Might as well just go in. _His leg can’t take anymore, so the blond practically limps over to the dorm bed and sits on the unmade sheets, rubbing his knee with a groan of pain. Still, Yusuke is unresponsive.__  
Two minutes go by. Five minutes. Ryuji has an odd sense of deja vu.  
“Ah, that should be enough,” murmurs the artist to himself as he nods assuredly and adds a final touch.  
“Dude,” says Ryuji, “took you long enough. You ever study ikebana? My mom used to be into it when we had the money.”  
“Ikebana?” echoes the other boy. “Madarame looked down upon it, but I suppose I no longer need to be constrained by such things… perhaps I shall do some research.”  
“Try not to spend all your money on it so you can’t eat.”  
With narrowed eyes, Yusuke gives him a look that tells Ryuji he misjudged-- Yusuke is still mad. “Oh? Are you an expert in financial matters now?”  
“No, I just--” Ryuji stands up in indignation. “Listen, man, I’m just worried about you. I mean, you never have enough money for subway fare and you gotta keep askin’ us to spot you. I don’t mind, just I wanna know you’re eatin’ is all.”  
“I can take care of myself. Besides, I suppose it may seem as if we’re too _close _if you continue to show your worry for me.”__  
_Ah _. He noticed after all.__  
Ryuji tries not to sound so angry. _Make it clear _, he tells himself. _No more mixed signals. _____  
“Dude-- Yusuke, I didn’t mean it like…”  
Another trail-off, but Ryuji is the one who picks it back up this time. “No, I’m sorry, man. I _did _mean it like that. I’m real sorry about everything-- makin’ it seem like I was into you, then pushin’ you away, then doin’ it all over again. Shit musta hurt.__  
“And I didn’t do it cause I was clueless, or oblivious, or whatever.” He takes a big gulp of whatever courage he’s trying to summon, and takes a step forward toward Yusuke. “I did it cause I was lyin’ to myself. I didn’t want you to-- no, I didn’t want _myself _to know that--”__  
His knee collapses underneath him.  
The floor, paint-spattered carpet, rushes toward him, and Ryuji’s stomach lurches. His eyes squeeze tight in preparation for impact--  
_Huh? ___  
Something very warm and solid stops him from hitting the ground. Ryuji opens his eyes to see a Kosei uniform, with eraser bits all over it, and long, thin arms steadying his torso.  
“S-- sorry,” he says, shifting his weight onto his good leg to avoid overwhelming Yusuke. “I, uh… I was on my feet for a while, and walkin’ here from the station was a bitch, so, uh…”  
Yusuke is silent, only gripping Ryuji’s shoulder with one arm and his waist with the other. It hits the athlete that this is not at all bad.  
“Yusuke?” he murmurs softly.  
“Hm…?”  
“I, uh. I kinda wanna give you a hug. If that’s cool with you.”  
In lieu of answer, the taller boy pulls Ryuji a little closer.  
“I’m sorry,” says Ryuji again, his chin resting on Yusuke’s shoulder. Were he any further away, he’d be inaudible. “I actually… I really like you. Didn’t mean to hurt you. I was dumb.”  
“You talk too much,” replies Yusuke. His grip on the athlete tightens, and Ryuji finds himself holding the taller boy around the waist.  
He suddenly remembers that Yusuke saw his love flowers in the bouquet-- he didn’t need to say most of that.  
Ryuji feels like an idiot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took a while to write, unfortunately. thanks for being patient. happy holidays, whichever one you celebrate (or don't). have a nice day in general, and also a great new year. as for me, it's maligayang pasko.  
> if you liked this, and also like lgbt fiction, check out my novel at https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/strawberrymilk because it's free at the moment.

**Author's Note:**

> The next one should be up soon, like... this week. Happy Holidays.  
> You can find my novel (which is free! And gay!) on my author page at https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/strawberrymilk


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